Macbeth
by NefertariHime
Summary: Named as such because the two short stories within were inspired by a famous quote from that play. It's slash. Beast Wars slash. And ghosts. And vaguely AU. And OOC on purpose. Oh, my. Er, Read and Review?
1. Double Double Toil and Trouble

_Disclaimer: Not mine; Hasbro's. I'm only borrowing it. Notes at the bottom. Quote is from Shakespeare's Macbeth. Also, this is SLASH. Two characters of the same, er, "gender" in a somewhat romantic connection._

**Double Double Toil and Trouble**

"Double, double toil and trouble," muttered Quickstrike nervously as he slowly made his way through the dark halls of the Predacon base. He didn't know where the quote came from, but he could hear the voice speaking it as clearly as were the speaker right beside him. Like he had been a dozen times before. 

That was why he was down here; in the dank, abandoned halls of the Darkside, searching out an abandoned lab, the values of it having been stripped by that two-timing tarantula long ago. Except for one, just one, dearly precious treasure. 

He stepped into the lab, twitching his scorpion-legged hand convulsively. "H-hello?" There was no answer, and Quickstrike carefully made his way inside, reaching for the single remaining flame, turning it on and watching in fascination as the gelletinous green mass above it slowly liquified and started boiling. 

"Double, double toil and trouble; fire burn and cauldron bubble," whispered a giddy voice in his audio receptor, sounding lost and pleased at once. 

Quickstrike jumped, snake-hand biting on instinct at the thin air where the voice had originated. "D-don't do that, y'crazy spook," Quickstrike managed to gasp, staring into the glass, his reflection coloured green next to a ethereal shape that he knew, from experience, would be invisible to the naked eye. 

"Sorry... I didn't think you'd come back," the mech - for the voice was male - whispered. His voice sounded as if speaking from a distance, but it was breathed close by Quickstrike. At times he fancied he could even feel the warmth of another active body. 

"Megatron sent me on another scout," answered Quickstrike dutifully to the silent accusation. "I would have been here sooner if it weren't for--" 

"Blackarachnia?" He was taunting, mocking, scorning... The tone was sweet - so very sweet to Quickstrike's mind - but the barbs that the phantom was so adept at hiding were needling the fuzor mercilessly. 

"She is right pretty," murmured Quickstrike, knowing that lying was useless to this strange entity that he had discovered entirely by accident. None of the others knew; none of the others could know. It was his secret and only his. 

"I'm not," admitted the voice. "Not that it matters, since you can't see me." A ghostly kiss landed on Quickstrike's shoulder and he turned, grabbing the spirit into his arms, and it squirmed playfully. 

"Don't run, now!" Quickstrike pleaded, trying to cling to something that could escape him at will. 

"Run? From you? Why, Quickstrike, I'd never do such a thing." Another kiss placed itself where the fuzor's mouth would have been, under the mask. "And where would I run? Who would help me, if not you?" 

"In life," started Quickstrike hesitantly, "you never were as innocent as they say you were, were you?" 

"Of course not. No one ever is. Especially us witches and warlocks, Quickstrike, we who can rule with the power of a name. You can do it too; just say my name." And unseen fingers pried away the mask, drowning Quickstrike's answer in a kiss upon thin, cold lips. 

"Scorponok..." 

"Double, double toil and trouble; fire burn and cauldron bubble." And they were lost in a ghostly laughter and the green, green brew. 

end

_Notes: Yes, Scorponok is indeed out of character here. I have no excuse other'n him going wonky from being a ghost. Yes, this is probably the world's oddest pairing, but hey, I made it as a bet with a friend. She wrote Tarantulas/Megatron, by the way. Nice and creepy.   
Yes, Quickstrike having a mouth is horribly fannish, but I wanted him to, and no one ever came right out and said he didn't have one, so there's my excuse, and I'm sticking to it._


	2. By the Prickling of My Thumbs

_Disclaimer: Not mine; Hasbro's. I'm only borrowing it. Notes at the bottom. Quote is from Shakespeare's Macbeth. This is less slash than the previous, but to be safe, the warning still stands._

**By the Prickling of My Thumbs**

He did not visit the lower levels anymore. He had closed that door a long time ago and never returned, for fear of the spirit lurking there in the dark. 

There would be occasional complaints from those that ventured down in the magma-saturated depths that some places it was, well, _cold_. Even among the molten rock, it was colder yet than on the outside of the volcano. 

Quickstrike didn't care. He did not go down there anymore. 

"Double, double, toil and trouble; fir burn and cauldron bubble," he said. "By the prickling of my thumbs--" 

Blackarachnia looked at him. "What are you talking about? You don't even have thumbs." Her voice was scathing as ever when directed at him. 

"It's a quote," said Quickstrike. "Do you know what comes after it?" 

"A kick in the face if you don't shut up," she said moodily. "C'mon, our shift's over." 

That was the first time Quickstrike noticed the chill. It now wafted coldly in the air, just out of the shaft up from the lower levels. Quickstrike ran and locked himself in his small room. 

"By the prickling of my thumbs--" 

"What is two-head talking about?" Waspinator buzzed along, looking down at him as he scuttled over the uneven jungle floor. 

"It's a quote. Do you know the ending?" 

"Waspinator is not good with quotes," said the bug regretfully. 

"That's okay," said Quickstrike. "I'll figure it out." 

That day it was cold all along the hallway, ending just barely past what was, supposedly, Tarantulas' room, when he bothered to make use of it. 

Quickstrike locked and barricaded his door, and sat on the floor, silent. 

"What is that you're muttering?" 

Quickstrike looked from the computer screen to Megatron. "It's a quote. I can't remember the ending." 

The purple Predacon looked vaguely annoyed. "Could you try to figure it out silently? We do have work to do, yeess." 

Quickstrike ducked. "I just can't remember, boss. Double, double, toil and trouble; fire burn and cauldron bubble. By the prickling of my thumbs--" 

"Something wicked this way comes," Megatron snapped irritably. "Now shut up." 

That day the chill hovered outside his door, and Quickstrike closed it and locked it, sitting on his lonely chair and staring. 

Sunset came and went, and the base fell silent with the shift change. He heard Blackarachnia leave her quarters, and Megatron enter his. In the silence an odd disharmony picked at his attention. 

He lifted his head and listened to a slow, steady scrape, growing in strength and intensity. 

With a shock he realised that it was scraping on his door. It scraped from top to bottom slowly, then stopped. Quickstrike sat, stiff as a statue, waiting. 

When the scraping started again, he jumped, slamming his back against the chair's. It scritched into the door, slowly creeping down once more to the bottom where it stopped. Quickstrike stood up, watching the door. 

When it started again, he did not jump, but merely walked to the door, listening to the steady scrape of a steel-cast poison stinger. "By the prickling of my thumbs," he said, and waited for the sound to end, "something wicked this way comes." 

He opened the door and greeted the chill. 

end

_Notes: Wee! Ghost story! Not terribly impressive, I know, but my friend LJ's been pestering me to write a sequel for a long while now, so I indulged her. It helped that she wrote a poem to inspire me, too.   
I've also come to the conclusion that I like writing about descents into evil and/or darkness._


End file.
